Welcome to Episode 13 of Dancing at The Orange Peel, a 1960-70s serialized historical novel. Just getting started? Episode 1 | Full Episode Guide | Extra fun content in THE MAILBAG
Previously: Episode 12, The Car in the Churchyard. Sunday, April 7, 1968. After the church service, Gwen is thrown off balance when Nate shows up in the parking lot with a sweet but ill-timed invitation that could spark family outrage. As the watchful eyes of the congregation bear down, Libby is caught between excitement and confusion, and Gwen must navigate a delicate dance between community expectations and her own heart's longing.
Content Note for this episode: Language - The language and attitudes of these fictional characters are intended to be representative of the cultural climate at the time and place of this story. I’ve made every effort to present them in a manner that is historically plausible and yet reduces harm.
Episode 13: BETWEEN SISTERS
“Slow down, Mama.” My heels burn, rubbed raw by my new Mary Janes. I stop and look back to see if Nate has driven off. Besides these darn shoes, Mama not accepting Nate’s invitation to the lake and her suddenly telling me all the time to keep secrets has me irritable. We’ve never kept secrets. It’s near impossible in this family anyways. But ever since Nate came along, she’s wanted to be sneaky. With Aunt June being nosy and Granddaddy the way he is, I reckon I see why.
I turn toward the church to see where my family is. Uncle Nelson has pulled his station wagon to the side door where there’s no steps, and Granddaddy is leading Grandmamma out. Aunt June is still on the front porch, staring over the parking lot. I can’t tell if she’s watching us or all the kids playing up the hill behind us.
Mama tugs my arm and hurries her pace, urging me, “Come on.” To ease my heels, I try to tiptoe as I scurry. “We gotta go,” she adds. Sloppy words from her sound strange. She fusses when I use ’em.
As she steers me toward the station wagon, a group of kids rush our way. When they get closer, I see Connie in the middle with mostly boys bunched around her, including Al and Brian. Krista is there, too. “Shut up, you ignorant ugly.” Connie’s scream makes everybody turn her way, adults even.
“Leave her alone, you ole meany,” Krista yells at Al. He says something I can’t make out and all the boys laugh. More kids gang around, but Connie pushes her way out, red-faced, tears falling on the front of that yellow dress that will soon be mine. She hurries to the car, elbowing past Al. He spins and follows her close. The other kids tag behind. When they’re near enough, I can see that Al has cupped both his hands to his chest like two ninnies. One girl snickers, then whispers something about boobies. Older kids sure can be mean to each other.
Connie stops and turns around so fast Al bumps her and nearly steps on her white patent leather flats. “You can just SHUT UP . . . and . . .” She swipes tears from her face and sucks in air. “And . . . and GO TO THE DEVIL.”
I gasp, along with everybody else watching them. Al laughs. My eyes dart to Aunt June as she storms down the steps toward my cousin. Connie’ll pay for saying that—one way or another. She shoves Al so hard he staggers backward, but he has nowhere to fall with so many kids bunched behind him. Even after Connie rushes away to the station wagon, he’s still laughing. What a jerk.
Me and Mama follow her and, at the car, Mama guides Grandmamma gently into the back seat. Pammy shows up beside me outta nowhere. Had I not noticed her hanging on Al’s shirttail like the other kids? Aunt June, pinch-faced, swoops in and grabs Connie’s arm, leads her behind the car and then, jabbering up a blue streak, leans eye-to-eye with her. All I can hear is, “You’ll get a reputation.”
Uncle Nelson drops the gate of the car and motions us to get in. Aunt June slings a’loose of Connie’s arm and tells him, “YOU handle this.” She does that a lot when it comes to Connie. My cousin draws in a breath, trying to quit crying.
Krista rushes up to Uncle Nelson. “The boys were teasing her, Mr. Campbell. About her . . . dress.”
When Pammy hears Krista, her eyes get big, and she bites her bottom lip, trying not to grin. She’s behind Uncle Nelson and Connie, so they don’t see her acting like Al, both her hands cupped to her chest. Her eyes meet mine, and she squeezes the air two times quick with her fingers, obviously wanting me to join in the teasing.
“Not funny, Pam,” I tell her as I climb in after Connie, who has the hiccups now. As it is, the other kids are mean enough; why do sisters have to be so hateful to each other, too?
Aunt June and Mama still stand outside the car, so I can’t see their faces. Using the same gruff voice with Mama that she had with Connie, Aunt June asks, “What is it with this colored guy, Gwen?”
I listen hard for Mama’s answer, but Krista sticks her head in the back door. “Don’t worry about that skuzz bucket, Con.”
Without looking up, Connie tosses a wave.
“See ya, then.” Krista shrugs and walks away.
Pammy crawls in beside me, and when Uncle Nelson slides Grandmamma’s walker in, the three of us have to skwunch up close. Outside the window, Aunt June is still spouting at Mama. “It’s one thing for him to show up at your work. It’s altogether another for him to come ’round your apartment. And now here! In our place of worship!” She huffs.
“Later, June.” Mama’s voice is a low growl. She drops hard in the seat next to Grandmamma.
Aunt June doesn’t stop. “You’ve always had a soft place in your heart for coloreds, but people talk, you know.”
“I said later.” Mama slams her door. Aunt June climbs in the front seat and slams hers, too.
“What’s ’is here?” Granddaddy asks, as Uncle Nelson pulls the station wagon into the line of cars leaving the church.
“No fussing on Sunday, girls,” Grandmamma chides.
But Aunt June just keeps on. “I simply don’t see why he came here.”
“Who?” Grandmamma asks.
Wedged between Pammy and Connie, I don’t have room to turn around, so I stare at my Sunday shoes and listen hard.
“Gwen’s gone and befriended another puppy dog,” Aunt June says. “She’s got some nigra fella following her around.”
“How’d you find this one, Missy?” Granddaddy only calls Mama ‘Missy’ when he’s irritated with her.
“Oh, my Lord,” Mama says. “Can we not have this conversation in front of the girls?”
I want to make her laugh by saying, “We’re behind you, Mama, not in front.” But I know better. Besides, she wouldn’t hear me over Grandmamma’s scolding her for using the Lord’s name in vain.
None of it stops Aunt June’s nagging. “Are you ever gonna quit dragging home strays? Don’t you realize how dangerous it is? And since when do they allow colored people to join the Chamber?”
Uncle Nelson pipes up. “It’s been all over the paper. Bound to happen sooner or later.”
“N——rs in business?” Granddaddy harrumphs, pauses, chuckles. “They’re too lazy for that.”
Uncle Nelson clears his throat as eases the car up in the line. “From what I hear, the Chamber’s Board isn’t happy about it.” When nobody says a word, he asks, “Isn’t he tied to the fancy businessman who owns the radio station?” I expect he looked at Mama in his rearview when he asked.
She shifts in the seat behind me. “Yes.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Uncle Nelson sounds like he’s suddenly realized something. “He owns that club, too. And the colored fella, he manages it, right? Hear they’re making big plans to have some country music shows in that place.” Mama stays quiet. He adds, “Strange, for a juke joint. But I hear the acoustics are good in that building.” He pauses. “I’d go.”
As Aunt says, “It’s all just so . . . unseemly,” I can just see her shaking her head, but that doesn’t stop Uncle Nelson.
“I hear Misener’s made of money. What’s he like?”
“Nice person.” Mama sounds distracted, then adds, “Doesn’t act rich.”
“Mmm.”
I hear the click of the radio knob and the car fills with the Happy Goodman Family. Except for Granddaddy humming along to “Wouldn’t Take Nothing for My Journey Now” and Connie’s occasional hiccup, everyone is quiet as we pass the place where Nate’s car had been. Then Aunt June mumbles, “Not right,” as we pull out onto Clifton Avenue.
Eventually, Pammy gets bored with the quiet and elbows me as she chirps at her sister, “So, what’d Al say to you, Con?” She’s up to no good, only pretending she cares that her sister was teased. I decide right then that even though I like Pam okay as my cousin, I’m real glad she’s not my sister. Connie knows how Pam is, though, so she just glares at her and tells her to shut up, saying it fast under her breath so the adults don’t hear. I know what will come next. My throat tightens. Boy, do I like my cousins better when just one of them’s around.
“Well.” Pammy gestures dramatically with her hands. “Just last night you were going on about how much of a”—she takes in a deep breath and drags out the next word real slow—“dreamboat Al is.”
Through clenched teeth, Connie repeats, “Shut up!” Her eyes are all bloodshot, but instead of crying again, she looks mad. Real mad. I stare out the window and wish I could be in my room reading Nancy Drew.
“It doesn’t matter,” Pam says to her. “He doesn’t like you anyways. Dawn Roberts told me just this morning that he called her Friday night. They talked for a whole hour.”
“Liar.” Connie pulls her knees to her chest, not caring that her dress hikes up, showing more than just her legs. She props her elbows on her knees and buries her head in her arms. Still, her words are clear: “Leave me alone.”
“Stop it, Pam,” I whisper.
Pammy shakes her head slow and rolls her eyes. When she puts on this look, Grandmamma calls her “Miss Cheevus,” and she’s certainly full of herself today. She reaches over me and pokes her sister’s arm. “You know what Al’s saying’s true. Mama told you to give that dress to Libby a long time ago. Just like those tight shirts you been wearing to school, you only kept that dress to show off those new”—she sing-songs the last word—“booooo-beeees.” She reaches across me again and under Connie’s armpit to pinch at her sister’s chest. Connie raises up like she’s going to jump right over me to get at Pammy. I dig my heels into the scratchy carpet and drag myself toward the back door. With me out of the middle, my cousins slap and swat and scratch each other. Silent tears stream down Connie’s face. Tiny red droplets bead on Pammy’s arm. Then the kicks begin. I tighten into a ball.
Mama, Grandmamma, and Aunt June are set off, all at the same time.
From the front seat, Aunt June yells, “Girls! Settle down or you’ll be doing dishes ’til you’re old maids.”
Sounding like she’s somewhere way off, Mama scolds over her shoulder, “Behave, girls.”
Grandmamma chimes in, short and quick, “Unh uh,” barely opening her mouth. “ Unh uh!” That angry sound means she’s dead serious and her patience is gone. We mind that better than any words.
Connie’s teary face goes back to anger. “You’re as stupid as he is,” she growls, low enough for only me and Pammy to hear. She thinks.
Grandmamma adds one more extra loud, “Unh uh!” Her final warning.
The car goes quiet once again and stays that way until Uncle Nelson turns into the driveway at Grandmamma and Granddaddy’s house right at the same time a beat-up white car with a dent in the rear fender pulls up to the front curb.
Thanks for reading! Each episode is a work-in-progress, which means you’re a vital part of my creation process, and the story may expand or contract as I write. I encourage and value your comments.
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Love the use of southernisms. Also that suspenseful ending!